Chapter 17: Bad News
Sunday morning.
Beaux had become extremely unproductive over the past day, floundering and meandering without respite. Every hour was an arduous chore. The anxiety, the tension, and the vat of nervous anticipation swirled in the pit of his stomach until he collapsed half-heartedly on the sofa or vomited distastefully in the privacy of his bathroom.
He was not yet used to the internal paroxysms ("I am a vampire for God's sake!") and he quickly found that there was little he could to do ease each passing. The erratic spurts of purple-red blood from his mouth and the fainting spells became more and more frequent.
Beaux looked exasperatedly at the chiming ebony clock on his windowsill: 10:00 in the morning.
How can I endure another minute of this torture? Beaux thought as he pulled his arms around his knees and leaned back against the wall. Oh, Meliah, I simply cannot live without you! Come back, please. Quickly! Monday, Monday!
Vincent tried to feign disinterest, but Beaux caught him peeking curiously at him through the slim cracks of open doors or parted curtains. A few times, Vincent casually offered his suggestions: "You should drink up, Beaux" or "A walk would be wonderful for your indigestion."
Beaux never heeded any of his father's advice. His body simply did not want to cooperate. He did not want to move. He did not want to consume. If Meliah did not return soon, Beaux secretly feared he would become completely disabled.
A soft rustle on the other side of his bedroom door alerted him to Vincent's presence. The sleep-deprived night had left Beaux weary and exhausted, but that did not inhibit the feeling of self-loathing. His prolonged charade of childishness was exacerbating the situation more than necessary. So, he decided to humor Vincent.
"Can I help you?" Beaux asked loudly. He heard Vincent chuckle as he opened the door and stepped in.
"So you knew I was here?" Vincent asked lightly.
"It's impossible not to," Beaux answered.
Vincent swallowed another chuckle and pointing to the gardens outside his window. "How about that walk I suggested yesterday? It's a beautiful, bright day. Why don't you take a stroll before the sun becomes too hot?"
"I suppose a walk wouldn't hurt," Beaux assented. He winced as pulled himself to his leaden feet. His body felt as though it would collapse like a house of cards under the slightest amount of pressure.
Nevertheless, Vincent looked at him fondly, and Beaux was instantaneously filled with gratitude. A parent's love and guidance was a precious thing, he realized. Perhaps as Cecilia had insisted, Vincent did care about Beaux after all.
Suddenly, Vincent's mouth parted and a slight slur of words rushed out, but nothing was phrased and formulated clearly enough for Beaux to understand. Beaux glanced at Vincent apprehensively because it seemed he was trying to make another point about why he should desert Meliah. But thankfully, Vincent lapsed into a acquiescent silence before ushering him out into the yard.
Beaux sat under the shade of a willow tree, whose exotic branches hung lazily from its elegantly gnarled trunk. The tree's woeful, crestfallen image called to him, and he soon found himself sprawled at its bark-covered feet, inhaling and exhaling laboriously. Vincent was right. He did feel a little less disoriented under the tender wing of the outdoors. The droning of the bees, the vivid pigmentation of the roses and poppies, and the crisp gust quickly cleared the blurry vision he had developed during his cocoon-period in the mansion. But his anxiety was only mildly compressed.
When an hour had passed, Beaux found that even sitting still had its negatives. His mind was traveling miles away, searching aimlessly for that elusive girl who so often haunting his soul. Beaux also reflected critically on the past, causing the veins in his head to throb with the stress. He tried to subtract Meliah from the equation to try and balance what his life had become. But in the end, he contentedly concluded that if he had never known her, his life would be meaningless. As romanticized as it sounded, he would rather suffer for love.
To keep his brain occupied, Beaux walked toward the front lawn. Maybe he could people-watch from the porch. He smiled to himself when he caught sight of the grey newspapers stuck in the rigid fingers of the rose bushes. The local paperboy could never aim the news through the gate for as long as he had lived in the house. Beaux came to expect his paper hidden under a pile of leaves or caught in a plant.
He gingerly pulled the wad from the thorns as to save the sheets from tearing. He read the bolded headline under a picture of a large, white building: MENTAL HOSPITAL SUFFERS CARNAGE.
Apparently some asylum in the western province had been assailed by a mysterious serial killer. Three mentally disturbed patients were found mutilated and dismantled in their beds. Curiously, the murders were clean and there was little trace of blood or incriminating evidence. Beaux was halfway through the article when he remembered something Andante had said.
Mr. and Mrs. Lavoirsier were at an insane asylum for a charity project…
Beaux rabidly scanned the papers, and indeed, there was a brief mention of the Lavoirsier's charity banquet that was held on Saturday.
"Oh my Lord," Beaux found himself gasping. The newspaper began to creased beneath his clenched fingers.
It was Meliah! She had already undergone the "transformation" and was murdering other human beings to slate her uncontrollable thirst. Just as Vincent had prophesized…
All sorts of visions were dancing across his mind. Meliah seducing the poor men as he, too, had done on countless occasions to earn his meals… Meliah ripping apart a body to feast on the blood bubbling from the flesh… Meliah stained… Meliah gone.
Beaux was hyperventilating when he reached a small vendor on the corner of Main Street. He lifted the front page so the pink-cheeked old man could see the headlines. "Do you know anything about this?" Beaux asked.
"Uh," the man spluttered, leaning closer to get a better view. "I heard the police suspect it was that one man. What was his name? You know, the one, who killed those poor girls in Vinlin?"
"Anything else?" Beaux pressed.
The man's face became sanguine as he concentrated. "No, sir. If you're really interested, I'd try the Lavoirsiers. They came back a few hours ago."
"Excuse me?" Beaux demanded in shock. They were not due until Monday!
"Yes, sir. They were doing charity things for that ward. But you can't imagine they'd stay after what happened! No, sir! They were concerned for their daughter. You see, she's still a child! I saw her a while ago with her parents. Looked pretty shaken if you ask me-"
The man stopped and looked up. Beaux had disappeared in the midst of blacks and browns and people.